Canyon
by green lion
Summary: Carmen reflects on the nature of canyons, grand and otherwise. One-shot.


**Summary: **Carmen reflects on the nature of canyons, grand and otherwise.

**Disclaimer: **Carmen et all are the property of someone else- I'm just borrowing them for awhile.

**Author's Note: **Just a little one-shot character study here. The idea came to me and I just felt like writing. Enjoy!

* * *

The woman in the red trenchcoat stood at the foot of the gorge and marveled. Pinnacles of rock twisted upward from the canyon floor nearly a mile below. The rocks (and it felt wrong to term something so beautiful mere _rock_) were marked by striking bands in impossible shades, red-gold and purple-orange. In the sunset, the landscape seemed to glow from within, shadows dancing on the steep cliffs like a pantomime. Millions of years of the Earth's geological history were written in its layers of limestone, shale, and granite. The thief's magpie-like mind reminded her that the vista before her had all once been flat, solid rock. The Colorado River had carved and chiseled and winnowed down the stone over the course of millennia into the extraordinary natural wonder that was the Grand Canyon.

What was the old expression? _Water always finds a way._ Carmen's crimson lips curled into a wry smirk, seen by no one.

The thief raised her beyond military grade binoculars to her eyes and zoomed in for a closer view. She was engaged in a process she liked to think of as "window-shopping," picking out the target for her next heist. Most people confined that sort of activity to high-end department stores. Carmen Sandiego was never "most people."

She scanned the canyon floor and quickly found what she was looking for, an ancient dwelling carved into the cliff face by the mysterious Anasazi a millennia ago. Carmen had initially scouted Eagle Rock, but ultimately ruled it out; it was considered sacred to the Hopi people and a superstitious part of her was still inclined to give Native American holy sites a wide birth. If it were within Carmen's power, she would have taken the entire 270 mile long canyon to add to her collection of Natural Wonders of the World. But such a feat of engineering would have been beyond even what Sara at her most brilliant could manage. Besides, damaging an entire ecosystem did not sit well with her unique moral code. The cliff dwelling at Nankoweap Creek seemed like a fine compromise.

The thief recalled that though the Navajo word Anasazi was usually translated as "ancient ones," some translated it as "ancient enemy." The latter meaning gave her target a further appeal, a secret message to be shared with her favorite opponents, Zack and Ivy. There were always layers upon layers of meaning encoded in her games. The detectives never grasped more than the most surface level ones, but that didn't matter to Carmen; the message was written there all the same, even if Ivy and Zack didn't care to decipher it. The thief shook her long dark curls and gave an invisible mental shrug. Like the author with his story, there were subconscious meanings woven into the fabric of her crimes probably unknown even to her.

She replaced her binoculars in their stiff leather case and began to make her way back to VILE's base camp, small red rocks and stones crunching beneath her stiletto heels. They dug into her feet uncomfortably, little pebbles of penance that did not even begin to compensate for the enormity of her crimes.

About halfway back she was met by one of her jumpsuited henchmen who called out "Boss! Got something I think you should see."

"What is it?" She drew closer to where her subordinate waited with an unfolded map.

He gestured to a spot circled in red marker, the ink still wet and sticky like fresh blood. "Got some bogies down by the South Rim. It's those ACME detectives."

Underneath the brim of her fedora, Carmen raised an eyebrow. The heist was still in its planning stages; she had not issued an official invitation via clue for ACME to join her here. Either the detectives' abilities were sharper than she suspected or there was a mole within the ranks of VILE. Neither possibility was entirely welcome. "Ivy and Zack?" she asked in her most even tone.

"Yeah. And some other ones besides." He paused a moment, then added. "They're holed up at one of the campsites. We didn't see any patrol cars or law enforcement with them. Honestly, I don't think there here lookin' for you, boss."

Carmen's curiosity was piqued. "Show me," she commanded.

He radioed a colleague. "Jim, can you get me eyes on those ACME kids again, over?"

In minutes, images of Ivy, Zack, and three other detectives Carmen recognized as Jasmine, Tatiana, and Armando appeared on Carmen's video screen. Ivy and Jasmine were pitching a tent, while Zack and Tatiana cooked something over a small camp stove. Armando sat on a flat rock, strumming a Spanish guitar, until Ivy came over and scolded him for his laziness. By all appearances, the detectives seemed to be up to nothing more than a wholesome camping trip.

"Like I said, boss, doesn't look like they're aware VILE is even in the area."

"I'd like to keep it that way," she said tartly. "Call back all the teams except the one watching ACME's campsite."

"Are you aborting the operation?"

She tapped a gloved finger to her lips. "I'm not sure," she told him mysteriously. Her subordinate, one of the brighter ones, knew better than to question her judgment and left to carry out her orders with nothing more than a silent nod.

Carmen watched the detectives from her monitor. Armando purposefully shook up a can of soda and sprayed it over Zack, while the girls looked on and laughed. It was nothing more than a comic scene, a group of friends having fun off the clock. Ivy in particular looked happier and less guarded than Carmen had ever seen her. The girl's face was never so carefree in the games they played together. Carmen felt a pang of something strange. They were having such a good time, it seemed a shame to ruin it.

A bitter voice rose up within her, _Since when did their fun become more important than yours?_ Carmen felt her cheeks turn scarlet with shame, felt her skin grow cold and clammy despite the dry Arizona heat. She was suddenly grateful her henchmen were otherwise engaged; Carmen wrestling with her conscience was never a pretty sight. Rationally, there were several valid reasons for the heist to be postponed. For one, having the detectives so close by narrowed the margin of her getaway beyond acceptable parameters. And there was also the possibility that the campsite was a ruse set up to lull her into a false sense of security. Perhaps the detectives were merely biding their time, just waiting to pounce.

A delay in plans was therefore strategic, not sentimental, she told herself.

The thief turned her eyes to the monitor again, transfixed by what she saw, and felt a feeling she could only describe as loss mixed with envy. She couldn't deny her sentimental attachment to Ivy and Zack, its existence had been made clear to her long ago. But why this emotional bond emerged when it did sometimes felt like a riddle even she was incapable of solving. The world had not been very kind to Carmen Sandiego. And in return, Carmen had not been kind to the world. If there was one lesson she had learned at the orphanage, it was always better to leave others before they ended up leaving you. For years that had been her mantra, first as a detective and then as a thief. She knew very well most people thought she had a heart of stone. She had at times believed it herself. But where Ivy and Zack were concerned, her heart felt altogether too raw and beating and fragile.

The thief's sharp eyes flicked toward the canyon's vistas and she let out a dry, mirthless laugh. Perhaps sentiment (she wouldn't call it _love_) like water, always found a way. And if at times her heart felt hollowed out and carved into pieces, perhaps like the canyon it could be a thing of beauty, too.

Carmen touched her gloved hand to the monitor where Ivy and Zack had begun to roast marshmallows, nestled in an almost tangible circle of youthful innocence and friendship. Even if she had been there beside them, no more than a hand's breath away, the gulf between them would still feel canyon-wide. There were times that chasm had been bridged- the image of a red rose on a blanket of pure white snow came to mind. But such connections lasted no longer than the briefest of moments. Some distances were just too wide. She closed her bright blue eyes and fought the sudden urge to cry. A single tear escaped and slid down her carved marble cheek.

The thief hefted her walkie talkie and spoke into the device's microphone in a voice like ragged velvet; "The operation is a go."


End file.
